


The Client

by queenhomeslice



Series: The Client [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brothels, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Prostitute Reader, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, emotional tension, fat reader, geralt just doesn't want to get close to anyone because he's afraid of them getting hurt, kinda unrequited feelings, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: One day, Geralt of Rivia visits the brothel where you work. You’re chosen to service him because you’re the only one who’s not afraid to show the Witcher a good time.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: The Client [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753774
Comments: 41
Kudos: 224
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Witcher fiction belongs to Andrzej Sapkowski; The Witcher TV series belongs  
> to Netflix; The Witcher video game rights belong to CD Projekt/CD Projekt RED. I do not own  
> the rights to any copyrighted material; I am not affiliated with any production companies of The  
> Witcher games, tv shows, books, or other media; and I am not making money from this.  
> ——-  
> If you are familiar with me at all, you know that I write almost exclusive fat female reader-insert fics in the Final Fantasy XV universe. Well...I thought Geralt deserved a fat girl, too. At least once. Thank you so much for reading this!

Geralt plods into town, hood up over his face. As usual, it’s the cats and the children who notice him before the rest of the townspeople—but like always, everyone ends up shrinking back in fear as the Witcher approaches the public stables. Geralt dismounts Roach and pushes a handful of coin into the hands of the nearest stable boy, grumbling about new horseshoes, hay, and a bath. He pets his friend lovingly on the nose and pulls half a carrot from his saddlebag, patting her neck and shooting a death glare at the stable boy. 

The youth pockets the coin and immediately busies himself with getting what he needs to fulfill Geralt’s request as Geralt unpacks his valuables from Roach’s back. 

The White Wolf, in the meantime, doesn’t make his way to the nearest inn, or tavern—he meanders to The Blooming Rosebud for some company for the night. He checks the local message board on his way there; and, seeing a few promising contracts, he rips the parchment from their nails and folds them up into his pocket.

“Good evening,” says the Madame, sizing up the man in black as he glides through the door. 

“Will I be serviced here?” Geralt asks quietly, without his usual gruff edge. He’s learned to tread nicely around brothels if he’s to get what he wants. 

“Hm,” says the Madame. “My girls are very delicate, Sir Witcher.”

“I can be gentle,” says Geralt, smiling softly. “I’m just looking for a night of slow comfort with nice company, some food, and a bath.”

“You’ll pay up front for the homely comforts,” the Madame replies, handing out her hand. She purses her lips as Geralt pays for the food and the bath, and smirks as she pockets his coin. “If you’ll excuse me for but one moment. I do have one girl in mind who wouldn’t be completely repulsed by you. Let me confirm, and then you can pay for her service.” 

Geralt nods and clasps his hands behind his back, waiting. 

———

“A Witcher?” your blink your eyes wide in wonder as you stare at your Madame. “Would he really want to bed me?”

“He won’t have a choice, _____________. You’re the only I know who won’t be afraid of showing him a good time.” 

You smile and nod, adjusting your knee-length sheer gown. “I’d be happy to. Show him in.”

The Madame smiles and turns at the door. “Thank you, ____________. I’ll send him up after his bath and his dinner.” 

————

Geralt arrives at Room 10, just as the Madame has instructed. He’d eaten his fill of meat and potatoes and soaked for a long time in the bathhouse in the back of the brothel. He’s feeling better already, and he’s looking forward to a night with his girl. He knocks, and after hearing an invitation within, he enters. 

The Witcher enters the fine room—it smells faintly of pine, one of the least offensive scents to his sensitive nostrils. There are candles burning on the tables, and the fireplace is lit and roaring heartily. Geralt takes a moment to observe his surroundings, to sense for any ill intentions. But his medallion is still against his chest, so he relaxes a little. 

“Welcome,” says the woman. “You’re the Witcher? I’m pleased to have you tonight. My name is _____________.”

Geralt unstraps his swordsand sets them by the door, then finally meets the gaze of the woman. He swallows thickly—he hadn’t been expecting someone quite so lovely. 

“Geralt,” he says, giving her a small smile. He licks his lips hungrily as he stares. She’s thick, curvy, with heavy breasts and a plump stomach, thick thighs and a pretty, chubby face. Her long hair cascades over her shoulders. Geralt observes the body hair, the cellulite, the stretch marks...he doesn’t remember the last time he was with a larger partner. But the longer he just looks at her pleasant face, her plush body—well, he mentally curses himself for not indulging earlier. He feels himself growing interested, and begins to swiftly undo his armor and his clothes underneath. 

“You’re beautiful,” Geralt says as he undresses. He senses a wave of bashfulness radiating from the girl. And underneath that, arousal, curiosity, the heady spice of attraction...but no fear. No. This woman is sturdy, headstrong, if a little shy. 

“I...thank you, Geralt.” She ogles him openly as he shucks out of his small clothes and stands naked before her. “Melitele’s tits,” she laughs. “If you think I’m beautiful, then I what in the world am I supposed to call you?”

Geralt shrugs. “Hm,” he says. “I could think of a few names. Beastly, mutant, accursed...”

The woman rises from the bed and glides to him, sheer gown billowing out behind her. She tentatively places her chubby hands on his solid biceps and squeezes, breath hitching as she touches his warm skin. 

Geralt shivers at the kind touch. 

“You’re none of those things, Geralt of Rivia.”

“You know me?” 

“I might have heard a few songs here and there, yes.”

“Ugh,” the Witcher grunts. “Don’t remind me.”

________________ laughs and rubs her hands over his arms, his chest, fingers lingering at jagged scars and other imperfections. “You’re incredible,” she says as she bites her lip; Geralt can smell her arousal getting stronger. _Fuck_ , he can’t wait to bury his head between those soft, fat thighs. “Can I...oh, this is so stupid, I’m sorry...”

Geralt puts one finger under her chin and tilts her head up—the woman might be heavier than he is, but he’s still taller and stronger, and he pushes himself into her plush body as he kisses her. 

________________ goes pliant in his arms immediately, granting him access everywhere. She meets his kisses with equal fervor, moaning as Geralt’s hands begin to roam. _Oh_ , the _softness_ of her expanse—he doesn’t remember anything like it in recent memory. He practically growls as he pulls away from her hot mouth and moves to her neck, sucking a bruise into it, followed by a series of open-mouthed kisses. 

“Ah, Ge-geralt,” she moans. “Oh, you’re lovely...”

“What were you going to say earlier?” Geralt mutters into her soft skin, licking a stripe to her ear. 

“Hah...I uh...you’re really strong, right?”

Geralt chuckles and kneads at her heavy breast through the thin gown. 

“Hm, you could say that.” Geralt steps back and smiles softly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you-you see, I’m...it’s a silly thing. But...do you think you could...pick me up?”

Geralt cocks an eyebrow. “Pick you up?”

_____________ blushes and looks away, fidgeting. The embarrassment and—insecurity?—drifts from her pores, temporarily masking the arousal. 

“It’s nothing. I told you it was silly. But well...I don’t get lifted often, you see, because I’m...”

“Fat,” Geralt finishes. He shrugs. “I see. Men don’t often treat you to such little luxuries, yes? Allow me.” The Witcher bends at his knees and scoops ______________ up in his arms, bridal-style. She gasps and locks her arms around his neck. He meets her awed gaze, and then all at once, she begins to cry, burying her head in Geralt’s solid shoulder. 

“Thank you,” she blubbers out as Geralt plods to the bed. 

Something twists in his gut. He knows that she’s just a whore, but the simple sincerity of the woman is slowly melting his barriers. The fact that she’s not afraid to touch him—really, genuinely, unafraid—is also doing a number of Geralt’s own emotions. 

He deposits _______________ gently on the silks sheets and climbs on top of her, straddling her wide hips. 

“Was that to your liking?”

She sniffs hard and wipes her pretty ______ eyes. “Forgive my outburst, Geralt, I just...”

Geralt catches her lips in a kiss again. “Don’t worry about it,” he says quietly as he drags his hand to the front of her sheer gown, held together with a large silk bow. “It was...” he cocks his head, thinking of the word. “Adorable. I’ll have to visit you more often. I’ll lift you all you like.”

_________________ giggles and arches up against the hard planes of his stomach. “Next time, huh? We’ve barely gotten started with tonight.”

Geralt smirks and undoes the gown, letting it fall away to reveal the soft fat curves, the dimpled skin, the snaking lines of growth, the body hair. “Forgive me. Let’s begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

There are stars behind your eyes for the second time as Geralt of Rivia brings you to another mind-shattering orgasm. He’s been content to bury that rugged, chiseled jaw in your dripping wet heat for what seems to be hours. Somewhere in the foggy lust of your mind, you try to remember the last time you’ve been eaten out, the last time a client had taken just as much pleasure in your happy screams as their own—and nothing comes to mind. You’re used to mostly hit-and-runs: on your back for ten minutes, a few sloppy blowjobs, provided the man had enough stamina; the awkward first times of servicing virgins. But nothing like this—never like this, where every wanton moan and tug of starlit hair seems to spur the Witcher on with more fervor. His large, rough hands dig into your dimpled hips hard enough to bruise, and oh—you become dizzy with the thought of showing off the Witcher’s marks on your skin. 

Geralt lifts his head as he holds you down, watching as you finally fall back to the bed, breathless and bathed in a faint sheen of sweat. You release your tight grip in his soft white hair and let out a long exhale, shuddering. 

“Still with me?” he asks, teasing. 

“Holy fuck,” you laugh, still gasping for air. “I thought I was the one that was supposed to be servicing you, darling.” 

Geralt moves up your body, holding himself up on those impossibly thick arms. You reach up to cup his face—his cheeks, chin, and lips are all wet with your juices, and you shudder at the sight of this beautiful man above you. His bright golden eyes flutter closed and he hums in contentment. “Your pleasure is mine as well,” he gruffs. “Don’t tell me you’re not used to this treatment?” 

You shake your head. “Not...not really. It’s been some time since I was cared for in such a way.” 

Geralt growls and lowers himself flush against you, and oh _goddess_ , you can feel his huge, hot length against your thigh. “It’s a shame,” he says. “Men are so incredibly weak.” 

You laugh and drag him down for a messy kiss, licking away all of your slick from his face. “I’ll take you over a normal man every day, Geralt of Rivia.” 

Geralt hums and cants his hips forward, grunting at the delicious friction. “I’m ready for you now,” he says, low and heavy. 

You moan and wiggle your soft body in agreement. “I’m more than ready for you, Witcher. Show me how you’re different from men.” 

Geralt makes a low noise of want in the back of his throat and sits up on his haunches, grabbing your ankles and positioning you. He licks his palm and strokes his cock a few times, then grabs himself at the base and begins to slowly push into you. 

You inhale sharply at the stretch—you're a professional slut, so you’ve obviously seen cocks of all sorts, but the Witcher’s is by far the biggest you’ve ever had. He pushes in inch by inch for what feels like forever until you finally feel his hips against the underside of your thighs, and his heavy sac flush against your core. “Shit,” you whine, arching up instinctively. “Geralt, you’re _huge_.” 

“Hm,” says Geralt, smirking. “Can’t be the biggest you've had, surely.” 

“Oh, but you are, I’m positive,” you say, giving a few experimental rolls with your hips, watching as the Witcher’s face creases in pleasure. “Fuck me, please.” 

Geralt says nothing as he leans down over you, bending you in half with your ankles on his shoulders, and begins to piston his hips. “You’re tight, for a whore,” he grunts out. “Fuck.” 

All you can do is hang onto his shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his scarred back, as the Witcher begins to claim you. Whining, you manage a stuttered response: “I haven’t been requested in a couple of—days!” you spit out on a particularly pointed thrust. “Oh, Geralt, oh, please, _please...._ ” 

“Hm,” grunts Geralt again, face softening as he gazes at your watery eyes. “They’ve been missing out, then.” 

You shake your head. “I’m no one special—not as pretty as some of the other girls... _oh, fuck, right there...”_

Geralt grabs one of your heavy breasts in his rough hands and licks and sucks at your nipple until it’s hard and aching, switching to give the same attention to the other one. He’s fucking you impossibly fast—is this the famous Witcher stamina that you’ve heard about? It's all you can do to clench your velvet muscles around his cock and match his thrusts with your hips. He shudders and cries out loud, and you feel his hot seed bursting inside of you before too long. But—he doesn’t pull out. He flips you so that you’re now on top of him, impaled on his thick cock, and he holds your hands as you begin to rock back and forth. 

“Not quite finished?” you ask, trying to even out your breathing. 

He lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Not even close.” 

Oh—yeah, this must be that Witcher stamina. You gulp and ride him as hard as you can, relishing in the fact that you get to have this beautiful man all to yourself. 

It’s sometime in the early morning before Geralt finally exhausts himself with your body—you'd had two more orgasms and he’d come a total of _four_ times. He’s snoring lightly, wrapped up in your soft, clean sheets. You’re too blissed out to think of anything, or anyone, else. After the hundreds of men that you’ve serviced in your life, this was honestly the best night that you’ve ever had. You look down at Geralt’s sleeping form and wonder how anyone could think he’s a monster, a beast—he's so _strong,_ but he’s kind, and he can be gentle. _And he must be brave,_ you think, fighting all of the monsters that so easily devour mere mortal men. You snuggle under the sheets to get close to him, to bask in his inhuman warmth and the body that looks like it was carved by the goddess herself. Geralt moves instinctively, throwing one heavy arm over your side and drawing you close to himself. He doesn’t wake, and you nuzzle into his broad chest, breathing him in, settling into the best sleep you’ve had in years. 

The morning comes before you’re ready for it to end. You wake to find the Witcher already pressed into his clothes and his armor, strapping his swords to his back and gathering his bags. You sit up in the bed, drawing the sheets up over your breast. You know you must look a mess, utterly debauched—but when Geralt meets your gaze, he doesn’t look at you like the paid prostitute that you are. He smiles softly, and his eyes go round at the sight of you, something you file away to think about later. 

“Leaving already, love?” you say with a yawn. 

Geralt hums and shrugs his shoulders. “I have work to do. Contracts on your town’s message board.” 

You nod, knowing about some of the monsters haunting the nearby forests and bay. “Geralt, I—I know I’m just a whore, but last night...it was honestly one of the best nights I’ve ever had. You’re an incredible lover, so generous and compassionate. I would be honored if you visited me again.” 

The Witcher sets his packs down on the floor and moves back towards the bed, half-sitting on it. He reaches out to your face, cupping it, and you lean in to the soft, worn leather of his glove. 

“Not sure I can afford you again for a while,” he says, without any bitterness. 

“I’d take you for free,” you whisper quietly, sniffing back unexpected tears. “I’d take you and only you every day forever, only you if it meant waiting months in between visits...say the word and I’ll never lie with anyone else again...” 

Geralt chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Nonsense,” he says. “You provide an essential service. Witchers don’t have the luxury of being that selfish.” 

“I could come with you,” you say as you stare into his honey-golden eyes. “I could be your companion, your friend—I'll cook for you, mend your wounds, warm your cock, stitch your clothing...” 

Geralt sighs and shakes his head. “I would never willingly lead someone on the Path,” he says gently. “And never one as lovely and as selfless as you. Stay here, in the comforts of your work and your bed. You belong wrapped in silk and near a warm fire and hearty stew and good wine, always. The road is no place for a gentle woman such as yourself.” 

You close your eyes and nod, sniffing back more tears, as you cover his hand with yours and squeeze. “I would come if you asked,” you say again. “But of course, you wouldn’t want me. I’m just a...” 

“I don’t care what kind of work you do,” Geralt says. “Being with me, being associated with me, is dangerous. I could never live with myself if you got hurt—or killed—on my behalf. Stay here, and stay safe. Where I know I can find you again.” 

You nod and give Geralt a small smile, pecking him on the lips. He hums in appreciation and rises from the bed, gathering his packs by the door. He gives you one long, last look before turning and leaving the room, leaving you with only the retreating vision of his tight, leather-bound ass. 

You sigh wistfully and fall back into the sheets. You just _had_ to fall in love with a Witcher, didn’t you? You settle back into bed, gripping the pillow that Geralt had slept on, inhaling his scent—and counting the hours until you’d see him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudo if you liked it!


End file.
